Kids, Clothing, and More Reasons to Yank My Hair Out

I hate clothes.

Okay...so you've seen me start a post like this before. We all know I do not hate clothing, but I do dislike the way my children manage clothing. There are two basic situations in which clothing can be mis-managed: What you do with them when you are wearing them, and what do you with them when you are not. My children are experts in both.

Okay, so after the shambles that was the first morning of school, I asked my beloved brood to decide what they were going to wear for the next day (yesterday) and put it aside -- on their dresser where they do not have to go looking. They all (apparently) obliged. So, yesterday morning arrives and my 10 year old son comes downstairs wearing a heavy black wool sweater and black denims. So I asked my young Johnny Cash if he was wearing or taking a T-shirt to change into in the afternoon. You'd think I had just asked him if he had murdered his best friend. He got really defensive and argumentative! I let the subject drop.

I will be honest here. I am not a morning person. In the wee small hours of the morning (any time before 11am) my idea of "pleasant" and others idea of "pleasant" may not agree. I am pretty sure I asked my son about his sweater "pleasantly" but I could be wrong. I could have pointed at him like he was guilty of drowning his sisters pet fish and demanded why he was stupid enough to put on a hot sweater on such a beautiful day. Only God really knows the truth at this point. My memory is vague having not yet been fortified with vast quantities of caffeine.

Anyways. So I did not pursue the matter with my son...not immediately anyways. My daughter comes waltzing into the room wearing clashing colours. Pink and orange which I am sure look fabulous together in the dimly-lit pre-dawn light, but not so great in the florescent floods that are in my kitchen. It hurt my eyes. Wondering if maybe she just had not noticed I asked her about it, and after having my head ripped off and handed to me by my son, I made an extra attempt at being sensitive: "My sweets," I started, "I am not sure that that shirt matches those pants exactly. You might want to go take another look." You'd think I just told her that her pet fish had been drowned by her brother. She went off on a tirade about how she had nothing else to wear, how she had no clothes, and how I need to do laundry. I censored the first few responses that came to my head and eventually settled on reminding her that if she wanted to wear something that was dirty, I would have washed it last night, that is why I had asked her to put her clothes out. I also (perhaps not so gently) reminded her of the $300+ shopping trip to Value Village on the weekend. She stomped away sulking.

This is when I realize that my middle son has not yet made an appearance downstairs. I opened the door to the upstairs (yes, my stairwell has a door at the bottom) just in time to hear my husband bellow at my son: "GET DOWNSTAIRS!!" My hubby is not a morning person, either. My son fled down the stairs crying noisily and completely naked holding a stash of clothes twisted up in his hands.

Turns out, my boy could not find any clothes for himself, either. So I asked him: "Where are the clothes I asked you to take out for today?" He presented me with what looked like a handful of clothes that he just randomly grabbed out of his drawer: two long sleeve shirts, a pair of suspenders, and a single sock. "This is what you took to wear for today?" I asked. He burst out into fresh tears. So I went upstairs to get him better clothes. I also grabbed one of the several t-shirts I found in my eldest boys drawers for him.

When I presented the t-shirt to my eldest after I got back downstairs, he asked me where I found his shirt. As he was putting it on, I got the third degree again: he had looked through his drawers and did not see any, and he did not think he had any clean t-shirts and why had I not done any laundry yet.

For those of you who might be wondering....I had done laundry just two days before.

As the kids were walking out the door, I was too busy fuming over how they suddenly do not like orange juice or green beans - despite that they had ASKED for them - that I did not bother to point out that my eldest had put his sweater on backwards. Or that my daughters shirt was on inside out. Or that my middle boy had not tucked in his shirt. No. Better for them to discover those things on their own.

----- Update: When my daughter arrived home, she asked if I had noticed her shirt being inside out. She had discovered it at second recess and was very embarrassed. I am told in no uncertain terms that I should point these things out if I see them. Can't win for lossing some days.